The Disappearing Shikaar Cuisine of Rajasthan
Devashish Vaid explores a near-lost cuisine, with roots in Rajputana game hunting, and the fascinating, elaborate dishes from this vanishing cuisine.
There is a traditional mand (a song sung in mehfils) about the men of Rajasthan, known for their valour and courage, and deep fondness for hunting. ‘Morha kyo padhariya sher sikar su mharo man nhi lage sa...’ go the lyrics, describing the travails of a woman bored with her man’s obsession with hunting.
Even before the Mughals brought their own lavish dishes to India, the Rajputs had an impressive array of their own, each dish more elaborate than the last. And a significant part of this cuisine was tied to hunting game. Hunting fulfilled both a lust for adventure, as well as the demand for new and exciting foods for the royals.
"Hunting was a part of the culture, and probably a way to hone the Rajputi skill of using a bow and arrow, and later guns," says Chef Mukhtar Qureshi of Courtyard by Marriott in Mumbai. Chef Qureshi's speciality lies in the cuisine of the erstwhile royals.
Game was an integral part of the royal lifestyle, and game cuisine was equally important. "Even though hunting was abolished the year I was born, I grew up hearing innumerable stories and legends of hunts; how they were about honouring important guests, or a contest between cousins, and a way to forge friendships," says Kunwar Hemendra Singh of Bhainsrorgarh, a former principality of Rajasthan, near Chambal.
His views are echoed by Chef Qureshi, who recalls the renowned hospitality of the Rajputs, especially with respect to shikaar. "The Rajputs had very strict traditions and customs associated with hunting. Taking your guest out for a hunt was an integral part of their hospitality. The royals personally supervised these hunts, and the preparation of game thereafter," he says.
Usually, the hunting party would set about before the break of dawn. Using their special skills, trackers or beaters would trace the shikaar, usually a wild boar, sambhar, chital (rabbit), and jungle fowl. Once the hunting party shot a beast, it was sent back to the royal hunting kitchen to be cleaned, marinated and readied for the feast. At times, on their return, hunting parties would bring smaller game like quail, commonly known as bataer. But the smell of raw meat, blood, and feathers in the camp or household, as the hunting party arrived, was considered blasphemous. Often, these orders and rules resulted in the invention of elaborate dishes, such as kaleji ka raita, a subtle yet delightful preparation of boiled liver with yogurt, to mask any unseemly gamey aromas or flavours.
It was customary to use every single part of the game that had been hunted. Seeri was one such elaborate preparation, where an entire head of deer, stripped off all hair using a stone, is cooked whole and served with rice or rotis. In sambhar ke paaye, hooves were cooked overnight over a wood fire. The heads of smaller game, such as rabbit, was often served to the children of the royal household. Hemendra Singh remembers that his aunt was famous for preparing the tongue of sambhar. Those who accompanied the hunting party — the beaters and so on — fought for the fat of wild boar, considered a delicious cooking medium, says Singh.
Game cuisine is shaped, in part, by the geographical challenges of the harsh lands of Rajputana. Their painstaking cooking methods were not always because cooks had the luxury of time; it was often the solution to more practical problems — access to kitchens in war zones, the scarcity of fresh produce. There are several instances in which, a dish created out of sheer necessity later became a beloved and integral part of the region’s cuisine.
Hunting was also a signal of status; rulers of each principality of Rajasthan — whether it was Mewar or Udaipur, or even smaller districts and hamlets — attached great importance to the way their catch was prepared and served. "Every principality had its own preferences when it came to the kind of food they ate. Of course, it varied based on personal tastes, the availability of spices, and culinary traditions. But another intriguing factor was marriages, and the recipes that were brought into the family,” says Hemendra Singh.
Rajput chefs who worked in the rasowaras (traditional kitchens) became specialists at preparing these delicacies. Water was rationed, so they worked around the two best ingredients available to them: yogurt and garlic, with a generous quantity of chillies, for good measure. "What I admire most about the techniques of Rajput cooking is their emphasis on retaining the flavour of the meat. It is not supposed to be over-spiced at all; merely added to enrich the meat," explains Chef Qureshi. The khansamas or royal chefs knew how to work with few ingredients and limited resources. These practices also gave birth to unique techniques within the region. Take for example, the khad khargosh.
Hemendra Singh explains this dish: rabbit is first marinated with spices, and wrapped in layers of roti. A copper pipe is then inserted into the meat. Next, it is wrapped in banana leaves or leaves from the Gulmohar tree. This package is then wrapped in damp jute, with the mouth of the copper tube exposed. The rabbit is then lowered into a pit along with hot charcoal, and buried. Ghee is added into the parcel through the mouth of the pipe, and the dish is cooked for at least 3 hours in the ground. More recently, this recipe has been adapted to use leg or neck of lamb.
Citing an example of what is perhaps the region’s best known dish, laal maas, Hemendra Singh says, "Most people believe it is the Mathania mirch, or red chillies from Mathania, that are used in laal maas. But they are wrong; traditionally, every region uses its local variety of chilli. Which makes sense, when you think about it — How could a farmer in the far flung areas of Mewar, Bundi, Karauli or Dholpur cook laal maas with only Mathania mirch?"
Besides geography, socio-economic class played a part in the use of spices. Singh says: "Poor families would add very hot red chillies, fewer spices, and more water to feed a large family. More affluent families, and the royal kitchens would make a thicker gravy with fewer chillies."
Although the days of hunting for game are gone, chefs have adapted these recipes with other meats. Techniques have also evolved — erstwhile dungars or khads are now substituted with pressure cookers. “We still coax out those traditional flavours, marrying traditional spices with modern methods of cooking,” says Hemandra Singh. However, the only practice he wont stand for in his kitchen is using a blender to grind spices. “The flavour is just not the same; we grind wet masalas on a sil-batta, and dry masalas in a hamam-dasta," he says.
With the banning of shikaar, this culinary craftsmanship can only be displayed with farm-raised meat and fowl. You may not get the chance to sample hariyal a puplao (a biryani made with green pigeons), but you could try to recreate the recipe using partridge or quail. Even as a new kind of food culture takes roots in India, there are several delightful dishes that are, and have been, disappearing from our tables. But with something as dynamic and constantly evolving as food, their loss need not be absolute.
Recipe: Mukhtar Qureshi's Rajasthani Gosht Ke Sule
Ingredients
300 g goat
5 g malt vinegar
10 g ginger-garlic paste
20 g chilli paste
5 g yellow chilli
3 g saunf powder
5 g black pepper, crushed
5 g galawati masala
5 g lazat-e-tam
10 g roasted chana powder
15 g almond paste
15 g brown onion paste
30 g yogurt
10 g goat cheese
20 g white butter
15 g mustard oil
3 g cinnamon powder
3 g clove powder
15 g khas-khas
5 ml rose water
3 g saffron strands
Salt, to taste
Method
Clean and pat dry the pieces of mutton. Marinate with ginger-garlic paste and malt vinegar.
Mix the rest of ingredients together, and rub onto the marinated pieces.
Skewer and cook in a tandoor till soft & succulent. Serve hot with dhania lasoon ki chutney.
Devashish Vaid is a writer and photographer based out of Chandigarh
ALSO ON THE GOYA JOURNAL